Nineteen Stars
by Schroe Dawson
Summary: Don't tell me nothing matters. I'll tell you what matters. Bare feet in the summer. Open windows at night.


_Author's Note: This is a little attempt on a songfic I did a couple weeks ago for Polly's fic contest. I've never thought of myself as a songfic type, so let me know what you think.

* * *

_

_Nineteen Stars by Meg & Dia_

_Don't tell me.  
You're done for.  
I don't need to hear.  
You're done for.  
You can tell me what you are running from.  
I need you.  
More than you need you.  
I can see you're really really running.  
May I ask you where you gonna run to?  
And you think you're living as a ghost now.  
Not quite heaven's ugly angel.  
We all feel like we're breaking sometime.  
I won't let you go tonight._

Stay awake.  
Stay awake survive.  
I've got nineteen stars that I.  
Gave your name.  
Tonight.  
I wanna scream.  
Wanna scream your name.  
Starlight.  
My life can save.  
You're my wish tonight.

Don't tell me.  
Nothing matters.  
I'll tell you.  
What matters.  
Bare feet in the summer.  
Open windows at night.

You think that no one needs you.  
You have nothing to see through.  
Well I need you.  
I need you.  
Don't I count in this fight?

_It's morning now.  
Time to suffer again.  
A safety that drunk can't find.  
No one can catch me.  
The way that you catch me.  
The way that you keep me when I'm out of time.  
What if I need you?  
When I can't see you?  
And I'm running out of life.

* * *

_

"Please don't go, Skittery."

A small voice caused Skittery to turn back towards the lodging house. Tumbler was standing just outside the doorway; a pathetically forlorn expression etched across his sweet little face. Skittery sighed. He had hoped that he would be able to escape without Tumbler noticing. The kid should have been asleep anyway.

"I gotta go, Tumbler, I told ya before."

Tumbler put his hands over his ears. He didn't want to hear any of this again. He knew the whole spiel: Skittery was getting too old to hawk headlines. He had recently passed his nineteenth birthday, a signal that his newsie days would soon be coming to an end. Tumbler didn't understand: Kloppman's overcrowded dormitories had provided Skittery with his first family, and now he was just walking out. It was a natural process; all the newsies eventually had to leave Kloppman's. Snoddy had left a few months ago to be apprenticed at a tailor's shop, and Kid Blink was talking about taking a job elsewhere too. No one was a newsie forever.

"So that's it? You'se is jus' done bein' a newsie?" The little boy asked, lowering his hands. His voice sounded small and meek.

"Yeah," Skittery nodded seriously.

"Why?" He demanded frowning. All the anger Tumbler had built up over Skittery's departure manifested itself in that one word. Skittery gave his friend an impatient look. They'd been over this already. Tumbler glared back, throwing his rage back at Skittery's impatience.

"Go to bed, Tumbler."

"Go to hell, Skittery," Tumbler came back coldly.

"Watch your mouth, kid," Skittery looked angry. Tumbler sulked, sitting defiantly on the front steps to silently convey his refusal to go back inside. Skittery rolled his eyes. As exasperated as he was, he let Tumbler dictate his action for now, so he went to sit next to the sulking little newsboy.

"C'mon, Tum, I gotta go; I'se too old for this business now."

"So ya gonna run away?" Tumbler stared at his knees, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

"I ain't runnin' away." Skittery insisted, "I'm nineteen years old. I feel like if I don't do sumptin' with my life now, I'll never be anybody." He took a deep breath, "I'm sick of this sewer rat life; I'm sick of sellin' papes and everyt'ing else that we deal with. I need to get outta here."

_But I need ya more,_ Tumbler thought desperately. He didn't say that out loud. He didn't want Skittery to leave him behind. He didn't want Skittery to grow up without him. Grown-ups were stupid. Grown-ups were the Pulitzers and Hearsts of the world. Grown-ups only existed to ruin a kid's fun. Skittery couldn't become a grown-up

"Ya understand, Tumbler, right?" He asked stretching out the stairs to get into a more comfortable position. He had already figured out that it was going to be a long time before Tumbler would let him go. "None of this matters. I don't want to be an insignificant newsboy. Where I am right now, my life doesn't matter."

Those words stung. Tumbler always appreciated that Skittery never sugarcoated his observations, and had long since developed a thick skin to his frank honesty. He was one of the few people that refused to talk down to Tumbler because of his age. It was always a nice change of pace to be treated like an equal. But those words cut deep. For Skittery to so cavalierly declare that nothing in his life mattered—it hurt. _Don't I count for anything?_ Tumbler wanted to ask. _Don't _I_ matter? _

"Ya don't think anyt'ing yah've ever done in life—ya don't think it matters?" Tumbler asked tonelessly.

"Not really." Skittery said dully, "All I've done with my life is eat, sleep, and sell the damn papes. I want to know what else is out there. Maybe you're too young to understand this, but after so many years of scrounging a living as a street rat, a paper hawker, it's starts to feel hopeless. Like you'll never make a difference in the world."

"You'se is right," Tumbler snapped. He had enough of Skittery's flack about their little lives being so trivial in the realm of a greater world. It was a grown-up talking, not Skittery, "I don't understand that. Ya ain't makin' any sense Skittery. Ya know what I think?" Tumbler answered his own question before Skittery could cut him off, "I think when ya get to be a grown-up, ya forget everyt'ing ya ever learned when ya was a kid."

"Tumbler—" Skittery tried to interrupt Tumbler, but he kept talking over him. Tumbler was on his feet now.

"No, listen, Skitt! Don'tcha remember when life was jus' about screamin' headlines and snitching gum from candy vendors? Bare feet in the summer, that was everyt'ing—ya remember, Skittery?" Tumbler begged, tears threatening. Skittery had to remember. He couldn't forget any of it. Tumbler didn't want to be forgotten.

"I remember." Skittery said quietly, nodding, "Hey," He smiled, "Ya remember when we were almost arrested for prying the top off of that old fire hydrant and playin' in the water?"

"Yeah," Tumbler knew he was trying to cheer him up, but the only memory made him sadder, "That was fun… remember when ya taught me to spit?"

"Yeah. That was gross." Skittery laughed. Tumbler laughed too, only reluctantly. He fell silent, gazing up at the dark sky above their heads.

Usually Tumbler didn't take much notice of the sky; the city was so cramped and the grubby old buildings reached so high, Tumbler could barely ever see the sky from where he stood. In the alleys and tenant's houses of New York City, the sun never shown, and the stars never came out. But now it was late, and the glaring city lights were out. The stars twinkled down though the skyscrapers and endless rows of tenement houses. Tumbler looked up in awe.

Jack Kelly (dreamer of dreams, and believer of wishes) once told Tumbler that a shooting star was good for one wish. Tumbler waited for a star that he could wish on. He needed to give Skittery's name to a star. The wish Tumbler planned to make was entirely selfish. His wish was that Skittery would stay and play with him forever. He wished that Skittery didn't have to grow up and leave. But Tumbler's star never came, and the sky refused to give him the chance to make his wish.

"Ya gonna be okay, Tum?" Skittery asked after a long time of silent companionship.

"No." Tumbler replied, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Ya will be." Skittery said, standing up. Tumbler got to his feet immediately. He wasn't ready to let go yet. "Tumbler, trust me, everyt'ing'll woirk out for ya. Jus' keep carryin' the banner for me, right?"

"Okay." Tumbler muttered, hugging Skittery. Skittery returned the hug, saying a last farewell to the boy who had become his only real family, his own little brother. Skittery spit into his hand; Tumbler did the same. They shook hands. Tumbler watched mournfully as Skittery quickly descended the steps and started away from the lodging house. Skittery gave his brother a wave and a grin; the wave, Tumbler did return, but he did not have a grin to paste on his face, even for Skittery's sake.

Tumbler sat again on the front stairs, this time alone. His eyes followed Skittery until the older boy was out of sight. He wasn't coming back. Tumbler leaned forward, his head onto his knees, his arms over his head. He wasn't going to cry; he squeezed his eyelids together, holding back stubborn tears. He knew this was coming all along.

The poor little boy sat there in absolute despair. In the middle of New York City, the biggest, grandest, most active and fabulous city in the world, Tumbler was all alone. And in that dark hour (either very late at night, or very early in the morning), Tumbler gave into all the anger and sadness of the world. He cried himself to sleep, with only the stars to watch over him.


End file.
